Accidents Happen
by IsabellaWinxSirenix
Summary: A baking debacle ends in tragedy. Twice. (A one-shot born of writer's block.)


It didn't have to end this way.

Becky knew that from the moment she had seen the carnage of her own creation. Her warm brown eyes were coated with a thin sheen of moisture as she watched the greedy flames devour those limp, lifeless bodies. The heat was blistering, melting their faces like wax until only the charred insides remained. From the smoldering ashes, smoke rose like a departing soul to the heavens, spiraling higher and higher, contaminating the air's precious oxygen until Becky wanted to gag. Yet she remained motionless, frozen in place despite the flames. She would not move, would not run away, even if that meant burning along with all the others. She was the perpetrator of this scene, and she would see it to the end.

An accident. People weaker than she would hide behind that excuse. It was an empty word. It meant absolutely nothing. She hadn't meant for this to happen, but what did that mean to those crumbling into ashes before her? Lack of intent wouldn't save their lives. All that mattered was that this disaster could have been prevented, and it wasn't. She had failed. And this was the result.

Becky stared into the eyes of one of her unfortunate victims with morbid fascination. They were a chocolate hue, so similar to her own it was eerie. Innocence was reflected in those eyes, even when gripped in the coldness of Death. Maybe if Becky reached into the flames and switched out her eyes, that would be enough to rid herself of guilt.

Somewhere in another world, an alarm rang, but still she kept her watch as a silent sentry. Even when the flames had finally ate their fill and lay down to die with their prey, she stayed and watched transfixed as the chocolate bled out the victim's eyes and fell drip, drip, drip, onto the floor.

Far off in the distance, someone called her name. Becky turned to see her mother run towards her, concern written in her eyes.

"Becky?" she cried, looking around at the kitchen, now in disarray. "Oh my God. What happened here?"

The girl bowed her head in shame. "I-I'm sorry, Mom," she said with a sniffle. "I just wanted to help you bake, a-and you were on the ph-phone, so I put the c-cookies in the oven for you, but then… then…"

After opening all the windows to let the smoke clear out, her mother looked back and forth between her guilty daughter and the burnt gingerbread cookies. "It doesn't matter, Becky," she told her sternly. "You're nine years old. You're too young to be using the oven."

A hiccup, then a tiny sob. "I know. I'm sorry, Mom," Becky murmured, choking on her words. "I'm really, really sorry."

The mother's eyes softened. "There, there, it's okay," she cooed, kneeling down to brush away Becky's tears. "It was just an accident. There's no need to cry. It's all okay."

"But it's not okay!" Becky insisted. "Those gingerbread cookies were for the school bake sale, and now they're ruined!"

"Cookies can be replaced, sweetie, but you can't. What's important is that you're safe."

"So… so you're not mad?"

"Well, yes, I'm a little mad that you didn't listen to me. But you've learned from your mistake, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mom," Becky replied dutifully. "I won't do it again."

"Then everything's alright," her mother said, smiling down at Becky with gentle reassurance. "I understand that accidents happen, but as long as no one's hurt and it doesn't happen again, then it's fine, Becky, just fine." She clapped her hands together in a final sort of manner. "Now then, why don't you get your brother, and the two of you can help bake another batch? Then I'll teach you how to use an oven without setting the house on fire. Okay?"

Becky nodded vigorously. "Okay!" Then, with her former tears forgotten, she ran off, bellowing her brother's name at glass-shattering volume, with the biggest grin on her face all the while.

Her mother only watched with a smile and shake of the head before tossing the cookies into the trash.

* * *

An accident.

The words rang in Becky's ears like the clanging of a bell. They were whispered in the frigid winter wind, screamed in the blaring sirens, but echoed the loudest in her memory of that fateful day from seven years ago.

An accident. It was what the firefighters told her, what the neighbors told her, what she even told herself. But it wasn't true. Accidents didn't happen twice. Accidents didn't hurt the people she loved. At least, that was what her mother told her. And well, she wouldn't be telling Becky much of anything anymore.

Just the thought of her mother summoned tears to Becky's eyes, tears that blurred the world into pixels of orange, red, and black. Angrily, she brushed them aside. She didn't deserve to have this blotted out from her vision. She didn't deserve to be blind.

So instead, 16-year-old Becky Botsford stood and watched her house burn down.

An oven. All because of an oven. She was able to save an entire city from mind control and cheese rays, but she couldn't save her family from one measly oven?

All around her, an army of firefighters swarmed the house, trying to quell the flames, even though it was useless. The only thing of value had already burned. She just wished they would stop trying. She already had.

"Come on, Becky," murmured Violet, taking her by the hand. "That's enough now. It's cold out. Let's go in my car. Your dad and TJ are waiting for you."

_Dad. TJ. _"No, I can't see them!" Becky cried, shaking her hand free. "Please, I can't, not after this…"

"Becky, they don't blame you," Violet said gently. "No one does. It was just an accident."

Becky bit back a retort at those painful words. Violet couldn't know how she felt. She was just worried about her, just trying to help in the only way she knew how. Becky should be grateful for that.

It felt like she was ripping her jaw out, but eventually the corners of her mouth turned up into a watery smile. "Thank you," she just managed to choke out. "I'm fine. Everything will be just fine."

She didn't know how, but the lie managed to worm its way to the surface. Unbidden. Unwanted. Purely accidental.

Numbly, Becky let herself be led away from the fire, with the smell of gingerbread still wafting in the air.


End file.
